He looked up. Like her, he stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment they just stared at each other.
Agnes’s pulse boomed in her ears. With no time to prepare herself, such yearning filled her that she had to grip her hands together to keep from throwing herself at him. Why had she become such a dunce around him? Why couldn’t she think of anything at all to say, when they had once talked so easily?
He cleared his throat. His eyes were impossibly blue. “Miss St. James. May I have a word?”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her lungs seemed to stop. Merciful God. What about?
She must have looked panicked, for he put up one hand and added, “Only a word. I shan’t impose on you any more than that.”
Just hearing his voice made her eyes prickle, but Agnes nodded and followed him to an alcove near the stairs.
“Thank you. I’ve not forgotten what you said the last time we spoke,” he said formally. “I only meant to assure you that… I regard everything that happened between us as utterly private. I haven’t told anyone.”
She blinked. “Told anyone?”
An endearing little frown touched his brow. “No.”
Did gentlemen go around telling other gentlemen after they made love to a woman? Heaven help her, perhaps they did. She hadn’t thought of that. “I would hope not!”
Her horrified tone seemed to startle him. “When we met earlier, with Mrs. Ramsay, I sensed you were alarmed by my presence. I only wished to reassure you… I would never breathe a word.”
She nodded, feeling stupid and miserable again. “Oh, I see. Thank you.”
He exhaled and ran one hand over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low, rapid burst of words. “I’m sorry for that night. I never intended…”
When he closed his mouth, looking pained, Agnes swallowed the lump in her own throat. “Of course,” she whispered. “I also apologize. I didn’t intend any of that to happen.”
His shoulders fell. “Can we be civil again?”
Involuntarily she glanced up. He’d moved closer as they lowered their voices, and his face was very near hers. His face, which she had kissed and touched and held close. He was unbearably handsome. And now he wanted to be civil, when her heart still leapt and ached every time she saw him. “Have I been uncivil?”
He recoiled, color brightening his cheeks. “I never said that.”
“Then why do you wish to be civil again? If you had been uncivil, that would be entirely within your province to change. That question means you think I’ve been uncivil, yet I cannot think how I was.”
His mouth hardened. “That’s not what I meant.”
“But that’s what you said.” Agnes fixed her eyes on the silver pin in his neckcloth to avoid his brilliant blue gaze. “And it’s the second time you claimed that what you said wasn’t what you meant.”
“Because I canna seem to express myself competently around you,” he exclaimed with a spark of temper.
“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” she said before she could stop herself.
He jerked, startled.
“What did you really mean?” She was tired of being on edge around him. “Say it plainly, if you please.”
He stared at her, perplexed or frustrated or annoyed—Agnes couldn’t tell which. She only knew she wanted to smooth away his frown with her thumb and hear him say something simple, something kind, something ruefully amused about how they always seemed to be off-step to each other—
“There you are,” said Drew behind her, making her jump.
She spun around. “Aye, here I am. What of it?”
“I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.” Her brother, no fool, narrowed his eyes, looking between the two of them. “Are you unwell?”
She flushed under his scrutiny. “I’ve a—a headache. Will you send for a chair so I can go home?”
Drew looked torn. “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll take you…”
That would mean Winnie and Bella also would have to come. Agnes imagined their impatient and pestering curiosity, wanting to know why their evening had to be cut short as well, and shook her head. “A sedan chair will be safe enough.”
“I’ll see her home,” said Felix Duncan.
She panicked at the thought of being alone with him in the dark for the half-hour walk home. “Oh, no!” Agnes scurried to her brother’s side. “Don’t make Bella and Winnie leave. And you deserve a night of dancing.”
“Duncan could,” he began, but she shook her head.
“Please don’t ask Mr. Duncan,” she whispered urgently.
Drew gave her a long, searching look, and then gave his friend an even longer one. “Aye,” he said at last. “Duncan, would you be so kind as to keep an eye on my younger sisters while I take Agnes home?”
“Of course,” was the stiff reply.
Agnes made herself turn. He stood straight and tall, his jaw set, his gaze fixed on her brother. “Good evening, Mr. Duncan.” She bobbed a curtsy.
“Miss St. James.” He bowed his head without looking at her again.
And Agnes followed her brother down the stairs, head held high but hands in fists, wishing she had spent the night at home in the broom cupboard.
7
Felix’s desire to go to Stormont Palace had waned considerably, but there was no avoiding it now.
During a game of golf on the Leith links, St. James invited Alex Kincaid and Adam Monteith along on the trip. Felix had been debating wriggling out of it, but now realized it was to be a jolly holiday outing. St. James was already giving him long, suspicious glances whenever Agnes was mentioned, and if he begged off he would probably be directly asked.
He took the coward’s way out, fearing what he might give away if confronted, and took cover in teasing his friend about Ilsa Ramsay. He won five shillings off St. James, who twitched like an eager rabbit at every mention of her name and sent two balls into the tall grass on poor swings.
But he was not as successful in deflecting his father. Displaying the uncanny knowledge of his activities that always irked Felix, Lachlan Duncan sent a note: Dinner tonight. And when Felix arrived—for it was a summons, not an invitation—his father said bluntly, “I hear you’re going to Perth.”
Glass in midair, Felix gave a brusque nod.
“Why?”
“Why not?” he returned evenly. “I’ve just finished the Buchanan case and relish a change of air.”
“Hmph. That was some fine work, Buchanan.” Lachlan refilled his glass. He never asked about Felix’s cases because he always seemed to know everything about them. “Why Perth?”
“St. James needs to have a look at a house there.”
His father speared a bite of fish and chewed, watching him shrewdly. “A house related to the Duke of Carlyle?”
Damn it. St. James had asked him not to mention that around town, wanting to cling to his remaining weeks of ordinary life. But now Felix realized who one of his father’s spies was. “You’ve been gossiping with David MacGill,” he said with an admonishing tsk. MacGill was the Carlyle solicitor in Edinburgh, and St. James had called on him.
“Gossiping! People tell me things.”
“They ought not to.”
Lachlan grunted. “I don’t make ‘em. But my own son tells me nothing, so I’ve no choice but to listen to others.”
“On the matter of the Duke of Carlyle, you’d best only listen and not talk.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes impatiently. “I know that, lad.”
Felix put down his fork, turning serious. “All right. What do you want to know?”
“’Tis true, then? He’s heir to the duke?”
“It is. But he doesn’t want it widely known.” Lachlan raised a brow. “He only discovered it two months ago. Can you imagine going from being a humble soldier to the heir to one of the greatest titles in the kingdom? He’s the heir, aye, but one still in leading strings as far as the estate goes. I daresay the duke’s attorney sent him on this errand to Perth to se
e how he manages it.”
“Stormont Palace is a large estate.”
“And so negligible to Carlyle that no one has visited it in over twenty years. It may be the smallest property the duke owns.”
Lachlan acknowledged that with a nod. “And why are you going?”
Felix’s gaze veered back to his plate. “He’s taking his family—also as a test, I suppose, for them to see a small bit of what’s to come. He invited some mates to make the party more… festive.”
Lachlan grunted again. Felix unconsciously braced himself, knowing this reasonableness could only last so long.
“I hear the sisters are pleasing lasses,” said his father.
Felix flaked off a large bit of fish and shoved it into his mouth to avoid answering with more than a noncommittal shrug.
“I also heard you danced with one of them.”
He took his time chewing. “You heard wrongly, then.”
He had asked Agnes to dance, but they’d got distracted. And now she would hardly speak to him. He stabbed a sprout.
“No, no,” murmured his father thoughtfully. “That’s right. You didn’t dance. You drank whisky with one of them.”
Only by a miracle did Felix not choke on the sprout. He abandoned eating and reached for his wine. “What a dull life your spies must lead. Why would such a thing interest you at all?”
Lachlan pointed his knife at Felix. “It interests me when my only son drags himself into my offices, looking like he’s been keelhauled in the firth, to say he owes a woman the protection of his name—a woman who was not Miss Hill, whom we both agreed would make a fine bride. Mighty interesting, that is.”
Felix drained his glass at the mention of Catriona Hill. He’d danced with her again, hoping that would somehow strike some spark between them, but it had not. He motioned for the footman to pour more wine. Lachlan watched in silence, then told the servant to leave. “Well?” he prompted when the door closed.
“Well, what? I did not drink whisky with Miss Hill, nor propose to her. Guilty on both counts.”
“And the next day you felt obliged to offer this unnamed whisky-drinking lady marriage.” Lachlan paused suggestively, but Felix said nothing. “That lady was one of the St. James girls, wasn’t she?”
Felix shrugged. “Does it matter? I’ve already told you the proposal was rejected.”
“So why are you going to Perth with her?” exclaimed his father.
“I’m not going to Perth with her.”
“You’re going, she’s going. Sounds the same thing to me.”
“It’s not,” said Felix testily.
Lachlan slammed a fist on the table. “Why can you not be honest with me?”
“Why?” Felix knew his voice was rising. “Why must you know everything I do, before I could possibly have a chance to tell you myself? Why do you monitor my every movement? Why do you need to know this?”
“Because I buried all five of your brothers and your mother, too!”
“Am I to blame for that?” he snarled in response.
Lachlan went still, breathing hard. “Nay. But you’re all I have left, lad. I care for you and for your happiness.”
Felix subsided, still seething but now miserable as well. “There’s nothing to tell about any lady. If there were… I would tell you.”
His father turned to his plate, pushing the fish around with his fork. “You like this one, though.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said with a quiet sigh.
She doesn’t like me.
* * *
To Agnes’s relief, the trip to Stormont Palace began well.
All four gentlemen rode while the ladies went in carriages. When they stopped for the night, Felix barely said a word to her, and when they reached Stormont Palace, he completely avoided her.
She should have been pleased, and instead she had to listen to her sisters’ gales of laughter after dinner as he cut up with Alexander Kincaid, whose family had been friends of theirs for years. He was in jolly high spirits tonight—everyone was. The sound of their banter and laughter carried well in this drawing room, bouncing off the high, ornate ceiling and the many tall windows and the polished parquet floor. Agnes was as far from the elegant circle of sofa and chairs as she could get, yet still heard every word Felix said.
Her mother came away from that end of the room with a smile, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten how amusing those lads could be,” she said with a little laugh. “They always were such scamps.”
“Well, they’re grown now,” muttered Agnes. “People change.”
“Of course.” Her mother gave her a mild look. “You seem out of sorts.”
Of course she was. She’d already abandoned Ilsa after her friend started talking about how grandly she would live, and the gentlemen she would meet, as sister of a duke. Stormont Palace was proof of that—a veritable castle, where actual queens and kings had once visited, where servants responded to one’s every need, where the wine at dinner alone must have cost what Mama spent at the market in a month. Agnes had never seen such a grand house, let alone been a guest in one. It was intimidating.
Her next companion, Winnie, abandoned her for Bella, Felix and Alex. Her sisters were thrilled by everything about this party—the escape from Edinburgh, the male company, the vast beautiful house and grounds begging to be explored. Winnie was sure the house must be haunted, and was already plotting how they could search for ghosts. Bella had spotted a maze. There was no end to what her sisters might persuade them all to do.
Even Mama, so practical and economical at home, was rapidly falling under the spell of this beautiful home. Agnes couldn’t remember the last time her mother had been this pleased and relaxed—it was surely before Papa’s death, though. And as happy as she was to see her family so delighted…
“I’m tired,” she said, and went to bed.
In her room—she had her own, while Winnie and Bella wanted to share—she rested against the door and covered her face with both hands. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. Perhaps she ought to have stayed in Edinburgh to manage the shop, instead of leaving it to Mr. Battie, their bookkeeper. She didn’t belong here in this sumptuous manor. And why oh why did Drew have to invite so many gentlemen?
Agnes sighed. That was unfair. Her brother deserved a holiday in the company of his friends. She could endure Felix’s presence for a week or two without breaking down in a nervous fit. It would be selfish beyond belief if she let her tormented feelings about Felix Duncan seep out and spoil the entire sojourn.
And, of course, the questioning would be intense if she let her emotions show; her family was a close one, which made them nosy. No. She took a deep breath. She might be a spinster all her days, but she would stop moping over what might-have-been; it was not-to-be and she accepted that.
For the next few days she did an admirable job of it, if she did say so herself. Felix kept his distance and she repaid him with formal politeness when they did speak. None of that bright spark lit his gaze when he looked at her, and she made sure her own face was serene whenever he was in view. She was feeling rather proud of herself…until Bella devised a race to the center of the estate’s maze, with the victorious team winning a new bonnet and a bottle of local whisky.
Each team would be one lady and one gentleman.
She hoped against hope that Mr. Monteith or Alex would draw her name from her sister’s upturned hat, but when the teams separated, she was left standing with Felix.
Agnes avoided his gaze for a moment. Bella was chattering to an amused Alex, while Mr. Monteith was listening with rapt attention as Winnie explained her strategy. Men tended to look like that whenever Winnie spoke. And Ilsa was positively glowing at Drew, who was openly entranced by her. Agnes had been both amused and nonplussed by that development.
Finally she faced her partner. Without a word, without expression, he showed her the slip of paper bearing her name.
“Yes, of course.” She sighed. “Everyone else is paired o
ff, I presumed I was with you.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Shall we choose the site of our attack?”
The maze was shaped like a star, with each of the five points an entrance. Bella had marked start lines at all of them and left the teams to choose. Winnie and Mr. Monteith were running to the left, Bella and Alex had already taken the nearest point and Drew and Ilsa were heading around the right of them.
“This way.” Agnes followed Drew and Ilsa.
“Not the left? Two parties have gone right, we’ll run into them.”
“I know my sisters,” she argued. “We stand a better chance against Drew.”
“That’s true,” he said thoughtfully. “No sense of direction, that one.”
Without thinking Agnes smiled. “He likes to win, though, and he’s got Ilsa.”
His vivid eyes flashed her way. “Aye, but we make a better team.”
Agnes’s smile faded and she picked up the pace, striding to the open point beyond Bella and Alex. Drew and Ilsa had disappeared behind the maze. Mama was waiting on the terrace with Mr. Watkins, the estate manager, to signal the start. Felix stopped beside her and they waited in awkward silence.
“Could we forget what happened and begin anew?” he said in a sudden rush.
Heat rolled up her face. Forget. That night had been carved deep into her memory. “Is that even possible?”
“Yes,” he exclaimed. “It is for me. I hope for you also.”
In the distance Mama called, “Is everyone ready to begin?” Excited shouts from her siblings and their partners rang out.
“You were right to reject me,” went on Felix. “I shouldn’t have proposed—”
She swung to face him in shock.
“That day,” he finished. “I was ill—felt like death that morning—”
“Then why did you?” she burst out.
He was pale. “I thought it better to act quickly, so you wouldn’t believe I didn’t care. But I made a terrible case and deserved to lose. I’m sorry for it.”
Mr. Watkins blew the hunting horn and automatically Agnes started forward, Felix beside her. “All I ask is to apologize for that. If you can accept it, we might move on to…”
How the Scot Was Won Page 7
